Ilian Winter
by Lyuh
Summary: Roy and Alen, as well as Sue and Wolt, get separated from the their army in the middle of a battle - in a blizzard. Unable to return to their various duties until the weather calms down, the two separate pairs have to learn to put up with each other.
1. Prologue

Written 20090613

Revised 20100624

Not my best work, but I want to continue this. (It's probably full of typos and repeated adjectives and obvious lack of sleep.)

Also, not that I /don't/ like it, this story contains no BL, despite shoving two very male characters into the same blanket. Without any clothes on.

An experiment in character interaction, if you must, is all that this is.

That, and a very sorry excuse to indulge myself with some Wolt/Sue WAFF.

Now that /that/ is out of the way, I must inform any readers that this first part is intensely boring and is merely a setup for the next four chapters, which encompass the actual body of the story. There are two sides to the 'fic: one follows Roy and Alen (A), and the other follows Wolt and Sue (B). The four chapters will alternate in an ABAB pattern, with each individual side wrapping itself up by the end of the second chapter focusing on it. If that makes any sense at all. Basically, if you want to skip over one half of the story because you don't like the characters or what have you, you won't miss anything important plot-wise. Or, if you want to read one side through to its end before reading the other, you can easily do that... after I manage to get the whole thing up. Simply, this is a mesh of two standalone stories. Shutting up now.

* * *

"Master Roy, we've prepared to cross the river."

"Very well. We must make haste, but do not let many people onto that bridge at one time. It doesn't look like it could support more than five horses..."

"I agree... Then, five cavalry units would weigh around as much as twenty-five to thirty ground units... Shall we alternate them in case of an attack?"

"Yes. That would be best." Roy looked over his shoulder at the mass of people waiting along the riverbank and sighed. "You and Wolt lead the way, and I'll stay back with Alen until everyone else is accounted for."

Lance didn't seem to like this idea. "Master Roy, would it not be best for you to join in one of the groups in the middle? If Bern hit us from behind-"

"I will not be alone. I'll be fine."

"As you wish, my lord."

"You may go."

Roy watched, slightly amused, as Lance led his finicky horse off towards the group. The Pheraen horses weren't well-accustomed to the snow, and it had caused some problems with mobility since they reached the border of Ilia; as long as they pressed on, though, he figured they would arrive at their target with time to spare. Until they were back in a warmer region, he got to see his "most skilled knights" curse under their breath and try to keep their normally well-behaved mounts in line. It felt good to smile, at least.

The sky above had been clear all day, and they hadn't hit a single obstacle until they came to this wide river. Its current was much faster than what Roy had expected to see; Thany had explained to him that the mountains just north of that area had an abundance of snow and ice that melted on clear days when the sun shone as it had, therefore feeding the many streams and rivers. Were the waters not so rapidly moving, he would have sent everyone across the bridge with haste. Unfortunately, were that bridge to collapse, anyone on it would fall into the water down so far as Castle Pherae was tall and, if they managed to survive the fifty-foot waterfall not far downstream, die of hypothermia. Ahh, what a lovely notion.

Thus, Roy's trepidation about the whole situation was quite justified. He gazed at the sky for just a while longer; there was a cloud there now, shaped like a horse, maybe...

He shook his head and turned back towards where his army waited. It appeared that Lance had managed to get everything set up well enough, for they were slowly moving across the bridge in small groups; and, here came Alen, probably wanting to tell him to-

"Would you like to wait closer to the group, Master Roy?"

Ahh, yes. "I'd rather stay over here. See, you can see the trail we left coming up the rise..." Roy gestured downward. He stood near the edge of a large drop-off just above a level area of ground; from there, tall cliffs wrapped around the area, and the only way up was the way they had come- a slow incline around a mile to the east. The path one had to take to reach that incline wrapped around the area in which the army stood waiting, so any enemies who approached from the back would have to come the same way they had- and in plain view. "It would be easy for Bern to trace our exact movements here."

"It doesn't look like it will be for much longer," said Alen. He pointed to the northern sky, where the horse-shaped cloud had drifted from. A huge, black wall was growing across the darkening blue, and that certainly didn't mean travel was going to be easier from this point onward. Roy sighed again.

"That's not good at all," he commented in an offhand sort of voice. He was, in short, exhausted.

"Master Roy?"

"Alen, get up there and tell them to pick up the pace. We need to make camp as soon as possible. If we're here by the river, we can still see if anyone is trying to follow us, right? And we'll guard the bridge on that side, so the enemy will be an easy target."

"Yes sir. I'll be back soon."

* * *

As surely as Roy had planned it out, they soon found that the enemy's ground force was on the move, coming right up the trail that their own army had left. Roy was distraught; he had two options. An ambush would be too dishonorable, he thought, and when he asked Marcus about it, the elderly man agreed and bestowed upon him words of pride for his choice. The second choice would be to guard the bridge from the opposite side; to destroy it would mean cutting off the only supply road for miles, which could potentially harm the people of the barren mountains. And so, the army finished crossing the bridge and set up a barricade of sorts, guarded by the Ostian knights. Their team of archers would line up along the cliff, wait for any wyvern-riding knights, and shoot them down as soon as they got too close. Though dusk was settling, they clearly had the advantage of immense defensive power. Roy was calm for the first time in months about the outcome of this battle.

"No casualties," he told Alen as the red-haired knight followed him around, helping with giving out various orders and gathering the archers and mages. "I think we can pull this one off. They should give up come nightfall."

"But," Alen said, "what if they hit us from behind?"

"That's where your team comes in." Roy faced away from the river, waving a hand at the road that continued onward through a forest of evergreens. "I want you and Lance to watch this road. It's the easiest way for them to break our line. Defense is our best option, but if it comes down to it, you all have my permission to improvise. Try not to kill too many of their soldiers, just make it so that they can't reach our archers; they're our best bet right now."

"But the sky gets so black at night, and with those clouds... Master Roy, we could already be surrounded by wyvern knights." As if to agree, his mare let out a loud snort.

Roy sighed. Again. "I know."

"...Do you have a plan?"

"Our magic users will be patrolling throughout to heal and help fend off the wyverns. If that's not enough, well, there's always the pegasus knights. They can distract them long enough for us to relocate some of the archery division."

"I see."

Roy stopped walking to stare up at the sky. A fine, powdery snow had started to fall, not enough to cover anything but distracting nonetheless. "Alen...?"

"Yes, Master Roy?"

"Tell everyone to go just a little faster. We don't need to fight the weather on top of this."

"At once, m'lord. But if I may ask...?"

"What is it?"

"Where will you be positioned?"

Roy looked off in the distance, purposely averting his gaze. "I... will be over with the Ostian knights. If our defense is breached, I'll lead the offensive team... We'll have to secure the bridge again. That's why I'm counting on you and Lance to watch our backs."

"But Master Roy! If you-"

"Alen! Just go relay my orders, if you would _please_!"

Roy pretended not to see the expression of utter rejection on Alen's face. "M'lord." And with that, Alen took his reins properly in hand and left. Roy really couldn't help it- he could only take so much pampering and worrying from his knights.

* * *

As the bone-chilling night air fell across the Etrurian Alliance Army, so did a horrific turn of events. Roy had feared an attack from all sides from the Bernese Wyvern Knights, and it was exactly what he got; there were no signs of the enemy until several of his watch had been slaughtered, and the shriek of one of the flying beasts split the night's tranquility. That was it – the start of the battle. Each division hurried into place, but try as they might, their speed in the heavy snowfall rendered them unable to mount a good defense – and the bodies splayed across the ground were more than enough evidence for the young red-haired general who had just suffered his first losses of the war.

Trying to keep his own morale intact, Roy barked out orders to his subcommanders, fending off his enemies' lances with a broadsword that now looked as if it were ready to split. He was sweating despite the cold, changing his strategy on the spot. They weren't in the forest, no, no, they were all marching right up the mountain path. Against the black sky and behind the dull grey of the falling snow, the savage flying dragons were nigh invisible; his archers could not mount a counterattack, and his mages had halted their futile assault in favor of tending to the dozens of wounded. The snow was painted red; the same could be said for Roy's line of vision as he tried and failed over and over and over again to land an attack on one of the enemy soldiers. They were going to be trounced through and through. As he swung his sword and pushed his way through the slushy snow on the single bridge above the river far below, struggling to protect those who served him, Roy of Pherae came to the realization that this battle had already been lost. There would be no sounding a retreat. Bern would kill them all, one by one, until the bodies were stacked as high as the forlorn mountains in which they battled.

Roy sent a messenger to his rearguard, to his faithful knights who had served him well all this time – what, had it been over a year since he'd last seen his home? But now was no time to think about that. He beckoned the squad leaders to change the orders he'd given them; "Flank our entire force outright with the Ostian knights; ignore the forest. We've got no other choice than to wait this out until morning comes and this damned snow clears. Remember, we're sitting ducks as we are now. Don't let any more of my men fall at Bern's hand!"

"M'lord!" It was a salute, and the men dispersed to reposition their teams.

"You two! Alen, Lance? Come with me. We're taking over the defense of that bridge."

The two men looked quite relieved to be at their lord's side once more. From here, they could protect him; he wouldn't be off on his own, entrusted to strangers who couldn't save themselves, let alone the commander of the army. They led their horses behind the small young man before them and traded posts with the heavily-armored men who had been standing guard, holding off the barrage of knights that had caught up to the flying division of their enemy's forces. Roy stood there with two of his strongest men, staring upon the endless wave of iron and steel that stretched across the bridge and the land beyond, to where the frozen mist hid the soldiers in its icy veil, and for the first time in a long while, he felt absolutely terrified. He had failed in his first rule as a leader; he had let one of those men who had trusted him, one of those men he was supposed to protect with his knowledge and command – had let not just one, but perhaps twenty or more of those faithful persons fall to the enemy.

"We're going to charge them and take back this God-damned bridge." He said it with conviction, with such certainty that even Lance couldn't bring himself to argue. One by one, they sent bodies over the rails, slipping on the ice and missing half the time, but too cold and too determined to care about such trivial things. They were fighting for their lives now, and as wonderful as it would have been to say that they were doing this for the world, for their homeland, for peace, each one of them knew that this was purely primal instinct. They would live.

Roy let his knights advance for a moment as he steeled himself on the side of the bridge, dizzy from exhaustion and from a sharp pain in his abdomen. The head of a spear was lodged just below his diaphragm, luckily low enough that he could still breathe, _so_ lucky that his armor had prevented a deeper wound, but the fact remained that it was bleeding and damn it he hadn't been eating enough lately and oh, it was getting foggier outside already wasn't it and-

"Roy! We've got it!"

The redhead wheezed and turned to stare bleakly at another one of his retainers. Wolt was racing towards him, followed by a Sacaen girl on horseback; the sight was, perhaps, as funny as the sight of his knights' horses earlier in the afternoon, as the green-haired archer slid through shin-deep wet snow to get to his master, and the girl yelled at him to be careful should he fall right through the side of the rickety old bridge. Roy would have chuckled if he didn't know better – if he weren't resting while his knights were still fighting so valiantly, so-

"Roy! The arrows!" Wolt grabbed his lord's shoulders as soon as he had reached his old friend's position, his breath coming in short white puffs that disappeared as fast as they came. "We've set up barriers. If... If we shoot straight up, they can't get close enough to attack! All we need... are shields! We've completely halted their offense on the west side of the plain! We've spread the word, and Miss Sue and I are here to help you guys!"

Roy felt a sudden surge of warmth and hugged his milk brother tightly, clapping his back as he laughed, ignoring the pain in his stomach. "So... wonderful. Really. Keep watch... okay?"

Wolt paled behind the pink mask the cold had painted on his face. "You've been hurt? Come on, let Miss Sue take you to get healed! That doesn't look good at all!"

It happened just then. A scream erupted from behind Wolt, and he whipped around as Roy looked over his shoulder to see-

Her horse bucked.

It couldn't regain its footing in the ice; it fell sideways, and then-

"Oh, God! Miss Sue!" But Wolt's hand didn't reach hers in time. Holding her stomach tightly and staring upward with the most terrified eyes Roy had ever seen, she plummeted down towards the inky waters below; her bow made a soft splash as it fell into the slush upon the wooden walkway.

They'd allowed themselves to get distracted. From the corner of his eye, Roy saw it – could see, there, something flashed – but then it hurt so bad, so bad, and he couldn't see anymore as a horrendous pain took over his head, and then another – there, his stomach again. He was pinned against the shallow wall, gasping and choking and – there wasn't anything much after that, only the most bizarre empty feeling as he watched the blurry shadow of his best friend rise up, upward until the mist obscured everything and oh God he was so cold and then-

He hit it, the wall of ice. Everything was so white and black at the same time, and then it was just black, and Roy couldn't even struggle to breathe.

This was what nothing felt like.


	2. Chapter 1A

**Chapter 1A**

Alen was a hard worker, the most loyal of knights, and he'd been one of Marcus's favorite trainees since day one. Of course, he also had his bad traits; he was impulsive to the point that he sometimes neglected to follow his orders to their fullest, which had resulted in some close calls in battles past. As his commander, Roy had chided him and begged his understanding. "Just slow down and let everyone else do their part of the work," the boy had once told him. "This is a team effort. If you rush out there and die, what good will that have done?"

He couldn't understand why his sacrifices weren't appreciated more, but he always did his best to follow Roy's commands after that. He would honor his family and do his job as a knight, even if it meant giving up some of the glory that came with the job.

In a battle such as this, Alen didn't forget his main priority, even with the bloodshed and the ear-piercing shrieks of the enemies' weapons against his armor. He would protect his liege until his death. He was thankful when Roy fell behind at last, though the wound the boy had taken was definite cause for concern. As the shadow of a wyvern darted in his peripheral vision, he was vaguely aware that something was amiss.

Alen turned his head after sending another man over the edge of the bridge, distracted by a woman's scream from somewhere behind him. Were he not numb from the cold, he would have been at the sight of the beautiful princess of the Kutolah as she grasped for the edge of the bridge to no avail. He watched as she plummeted into the abyss; he watched as his lord swayed and cursed and searched for some sort of solution; he watched, completely frozen in place, as the broad side of a sword from above took the small young man off guard, crashing against the side of his head hard enough to send the boy against the rail.

This was not acceptable. With a bellow of anger, Alen dismounted his injured horse and struggled to reach his lord. He _had _to make sure that Roy was all right. He didn't know what he'd do if he wasn't.

The same wyvern from before hadn't dispersed, though. The Bernese man upon its back ignored the knight charging at him in favor of attacking the army's general once more.

The sword impaled Roy's abdomen, straight through a battle-weakened spot on his armor. Roy lashed out with his arms and legs alike for naught. He was lifted against the short, icy barrier, the toes of his boots barely dragging across the slushy snow below as he choked and flailed about. Alen reached his side in a panic just as the Bernese knight took off once more, helpless to stop the final flourish that sent the young Lycian lord the rest of the way over the rail.

He had failed in his duty as a knight. He had been unable to protect his liege.

But he hadn't lost the battle just yet. His hands unfastened the thick belts that held his riding armor in place; his fingers furiously unlatched the clasps that held his breast plate against his body. He cared not for the heavy armor on his boots or his elbows. Without a second thought, he dove from the edge of the bridge, leaving behind the world of the battle.

The pain of hitting the water was nothing compared to the burning of his limbs as he struggled to find his bearings. There were bodies raining down to his left, but to his right, only two shadows blocked out the eerie reflection of the snow above. He recognized his Lord Roy with no trouble at all, even as they were both sinking as the current swept them towards the waterfall just downstream. He _had_ to save Roy, no matter what.

His lungs were on fire, but he did his best to hold the air in as he swam with the current, reaching his arms out towards the shadow. He couldn't reach him, couldn't save him, but he wouldn't give up, even as the remnants of his armor pulled him deeper and the water grew inky and heavy. The air was forced from his lungs as his feet scraped the gravelly surface below.

Time seemed to stop flowing as he gave one final, pathetic push forward. By the graces of the gods above, his fingertips caught the thick black twill of Roy's sleeve at long last, and he pulled the limp body closer to his own despite feeling as though he would not be able to move again. Alen realized with some alarm that much of the reason for the water's darkness was the blood seeping from the wounds his young lord had taken, but he did not waste any more time with senseless observation.

Guided by years' worth of practice in the training grounds of Castle Pherae, he unbuckled the belts that held Roy's armor to his comatose body, letting the weights fall to the riverbed below. Though the process was awkward and uncomfortable, he contorted his own body until he could reach the buckles just below his knees. Once they were undone, he wormed his way out of his boots, not thinking, not noticing that the water was beginning to move faster and faster until he could hear a terrible sort of roar. Realization dawned upon the man; he could remember a warning of some sort, that there was a waterfall that had send hundreds to their deaths throughout the years not far from where they'd fallen. With resolve anew, he held onto Roy's shirt with one hand and kicked against the current for dear life.

Alen had been born in the castle town of Pherae, which was very near the cliffs that dropped to the southern sea. Even as a child, he had braved the currents for fun and as a test of his own endurance and strength. Many men had fallen prey to the guardian of the realm of the sea dragons, but he had not; years of splashing in the warm waters had taught him a thing or two about swimming. This pathetic river had nothing on the riptides he'd battled.

At long last, he found the steep, muddy slope that would lead to safety. Though it was slippery, he managed to use his feet and his free hand to pull himself upward, dizziness setting in from the harsh cold and the effort. He pulled through, and several short moments later, he broke the mirror that separated the world below from the frigid night air. The heavily falling snow greeted him along with winds that hadn't been blowing nearly as fiercely five minutes ago.

Somehow, he managed to grab onto the roots of one of the trees along the steep incline and pull himself and his lord out of the water. The wind froze his clothes into thick sheets of ice on contact, but he paid no attention to the blistering pain and made his way up the embankment, pulling Roy along until they were in the thick of the dark evergreen forest, partially shielded from the wind and on level ground. He hastily broke the ice that had formed on the boy's cape, the same cape that had his family crest emblazoned across it - the cape he'd been so proud to don before they had set off on this journey, and ripped several long strips to use as bandages. Every good knight knew how to minimally treat the wounds of his comrades in any situation, and while he could say that this was probably Lance's strong suit, he made quick work of tying off the strips of fabric to curb the flow of blood that had long since stained Roy's blue tunic the color of rust.

The boy wasn't breathing, but at least his heart was still beating. That made the job easy, though he couldn't shake the jittery feeling that Roy was injured far worse than what he could see. Briefly, his mouth met his lord's, and after a few tries, he managed to arouse a cough from beyond those pale, cold lips. Alen gently rolled the boy onto his side, taking care not to jar his injuries too badly.

Roy proceeded to vomit quite violently, staining the pure snow brick red.

"Can you hear me, milord?" Alen spoke quietly as not to startle Roy, though he wouldn't have been able to speak much louder if he had tried. The cold was quickly taking its toll on him; he was beginning to tremble, and no amount of control could stop it.

Roy did not respond even after Alen prompted him several more times. He was breathing of his own accord now, albeit shallowly; the gaping wound above his left ear was testament to the blow he'd taken. Alen was not surprised in the least at his state of unconsciousness, although his worry grew tenfold. The knight stood and surveyed his surroundings, rubbing his arms as he searched for some sort of path back to the bridge in hopes of some meager warmth. There did not seem to be any way to travel along the banks of the river, for the foliage was much too thick; there was no way up the cliffs from this side of the river, either, unless he could somehow trek around the mountain and up the gentle slopes that Roy's map had displayed before they had even come to this accursed place.

The only option would be to find shelter until this damned blizzard subsided.

As quickly as he possibly could with limbs frozen solid, Alen scooped Roy into his arms and carried him away from the sounds of the riverbank. In the distance, the sounds of battle rang out into the night, but there was nothing he could do to aid his comrades now, was there? Briefly, he allowed himself to hope that abandoning Lance had been the right decision, that his limber partner would be fine as long as he could defend himself on that narrow bridge... He quickly shook the doubts from mind and pushed deeper into the forest.

Alen walked for at least an hour before he came across a tree that had obviously been felled by human hands. The weather had been weighing heavily on both his body and his spirits, but at the sight, he steeled himself again and followed the evidence trail through the woods, though his feet were bleeding without his boots to protect them. He had to turn around at one end of the stretch, for it led to nothing but deeper woods, but after backtracking and going the other way, he stumbled across a homely cottage in a small clearing. He thought that his legs and arms might give out at any moment, even as he closed the distance between himself and the door.

Several knocks later, he determined that nobody was home, but upon noting that the door wasn't locked, he let himself in. The interior of the house was nothing special, and it may have been a little drafty, but Alen had never been picky when it came to gifts from above. There was a fireplace with plenty of wood stacked nearby, and upon the mantle, he could clearly make out a box of flint and a small, steel file of some sort. _Warmth_.

Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, and there was no furniture, but Alen managed to find a few small blankets in one of the bedrooms after leaving Roy on the floor of the den. He quickly returned to his lord's side and set to making a fire; this took him longer than it should have, but he'd never had any need to learn back home. Once smoke began drifting up the chimney, he supposed he'd done something right and turned to further examine Roy's wounds, finally able to clearly see the extent of the damage now that he had the light of the fire to work by.

They weren't nearly as bad as he'd thought.

Once the heat of the fire began to warm the room, Alen shut the doors to the bedrooms and made a small pallet out of the blankets he'd obtained, though it was nothing to brag about. He carefully untied the makeshift bandages around Roy's midriff, wincing as the boy's fingers twitched when the soaked fabric pulled away from his wounds. Just as carefully, he unfastened the belt at his liege's waist and worked the ice-cold tunic off of his body. The smell of blood was nauseating enough, but once he managed to get Roy's black undershirt pulled around his shoulders, Alen nearly threw up. There were two deep puncture wounds in the boy's abdomen. He was starting to bleed even worse than before; the cold had suppressed his heartbeat, had prevented him from losing too much blood. Without any way to close the wounds, it was down to letting the boy die of blood loss or from the biting cold.

Alen finished peeling the frozen clothes from Roy's body before transferring his dead weight to the pallet, unable to shake his fears away. The wounds were deep, but they had missed any vital organs. He would live if he hadn't already lost too much blood – if Alen could keep him from losing any more. Alen didn't want to replace the old bandages with the strips of dirty, wet cloth he'd used before, but he didn't have much of a choice in this situation. He wrapped the boy firmly around the middle so that both wounds were covered before directing his attention to the large gash aside his head.

If Roy managed coherency any time within the next week, it would be a miracle.

Being a little gentler, Alen covered that wound as well. This would be easy if he could see well outside, or if there were some way to get back to the rest of the army, but... he would have to rely on his own instincts rather than the healing staves of the clergy. All his hopes rested on the smoke now rising from the chimney; surely, someone would come looking for them soon.

With the fire there for comfort, he was noticing with quite some discomfort that his clothes were _cold _and wet. He made sure that Roy was tucked in well before going on another search through the house, unfortunately returning fruitless. Walking was becoming harder and harder from the toll the snow had taken on his bare feet, so he was glad to sit once more. At least there was the fire.

The combination of the adrenaline rush from the battle, his struggle thereafter, and the extreme cold was enough to exhaust anyone; Alen would have been lying to himself had he tried to tell himself otherwise. Though he held the faintest hope that one of the airborne units was already on its way to fetch them, he couldn't ignore his body's protests and gave in, stripping down to his underclothes in the yet-frigid room. He carefully hung both his and Roy's wet garments from the mantle to dry, hoping to the heavens above that Roy would make it through the night. There was nothing more he could do for the smallish young man, as much as it hurt to admit that. The truth rang inside his head no matter how much he had tried to fix this; he should never have let this happen.

With a heavy sense of self-loathing deep within his chest, he curled up on the floor beside his master's unmoving body and tried to sleep. The fire eventually eased away the last of the stabbing cold, but that was long after the man fell into the first of many fitful slumbers.

Three days passed, and the snow only piled higher. Alen could have gone crazy from the silence, broken only by the howling of the wind as it assaulted the tiny cabin, or from the utter dread concerning the results of the battle several nights before. How had everyone fared after his departure? Without Roy there to lead them, had his comrades been able to fend off the Bernese troops? He ached to know, but there was no way to return to the encampment even if he'd wanted to. The door was frozen shut and the snow level had risen at least a meter and a half.

And, to top it all off, he was _hungry_.

On the first morning, he'd gathered the rest of the firewood from where it had been stacked by the rickety tool shed at the edge of the clearing, ignoring the blinding pain that now met him every time he stood up. Surely, there was enough there to keep the fire going for two weeks. They wouldn't be stuck here that long, hopefully, but at least Roy was still alive.

The broken window in the last room provided access to the snow outside after the snow had piled too high to allow the doors to open. Alen had found a small pan in the same closet in which he'd found the blankets, and it was easy enough to melt the snow down near the fire. He took extra care when pouring the cool water into Roy's mouth; wouldn't want him to drown, either, after all they'd been through. The idea of being stuck with a dead body until the snowing stopped was disconcerting at the very least, especially if the dead body had belonged to someone so precious to so many.

He could boil water to clean the bandages, using an old basin that he'd discovered behind another door. He made sure to change the bandages and replace them with fresh ones twice each day, lest Roy die of an infection that could easily be prevented. He could clean the boy's wounds properly and make sure that he had plenty to drink, but the fear of starving to death... it was quickly becoming a reality.

If Roy didn't wake up...

What would he do then?

He couldn't help but think as he sat there by the fire, waiting. Waiting for what? For someone to come save him?

No, for someone to come save _Master Roy_. As long as his lord survived, he would die happily.

He told himself that as he waited for some sign of help, or – hell. What he wanted most right now was for Roy to sit up and grumble at him. "The weather here is miserable. I miss Pherae; it never snowed no matter how cold it got, remember? But, wouldn't you please find something constructive to do? Sitting here isn't going to help us get back."

Something had to change soon.

* * *

No, this isn't going anywhere, really. But it's kind of fun to write, even if it sucks. I shall justify my terrible emotionally-detached writing with 'I wrote it for myself; therefore, its quality may lack considerably without me having to chide myself.'


End file.
